


A Quiet Night In

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Series: If It Ain't Baroque [3]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, Feeding, Fluff, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Vampire Len
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 12:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6753733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dating a vampire is fuckin' weird, but sometimes it can be surprisingly...domestic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quiet Night In

**Author's Note:**

> I think I'm developing a problem.

Since Len’s lair—because it _is_ a fucking lair, Lenny—doesn’t have a TV, he usually digs his collection of DVDs from under his paintings and brings them to Mick’s. Doesn’t matter if Mick’s watching something, the punk ass bitch just turns on the player. Thankfully his taste in movies isn’t completely deplorable, though Mick has had to introduce him to the masterpieces, like _Princess Bride._

Tonight, Mick’s woken up after practically passing out from a twenty-four hour session with charcoal to _Sweeney Todd_ —“the tour cast, not the disaster Tim Burton wrought” (Len’s words)—and no Vulcan sleeping on his back. This is unacceptable.

At least it’s only 10:15. Mick can still get a few hours yet.

Grumbling, he pushes himself outta bed and pads to the apartment proper, a small living room/dining room/kitchen/studio hybrid on whose surfaces Len, for some unfathomable reason, adores draping himself over like he wants to be Mick’s second cat. Currently he’s doing so with the couch; all Mick sees are his skinny jeans and Darth Vader socks.

A sleepy, fond smile peeks onto Mick’s face. What a nerd.

“How’d I get t’my bed?” he asks, voice rough with exhaustion.

Len drawls, “I carried you, princess.”

“Fuck off.”

Mick nudges his legs apart and peers over the couch. Len’s head is over the side, watching Angela Lansbury sing about awful pies. Vulcan is curled on his stomach, purring all over his [_Rocky Horror Picture Show_ t-shirt](http://hottopic.scene7.com/is/image/HotTopic/10518548_hi?%24pdp_hero_standard%24), leaving only the edges of the red lips and text visible. Len strokes the cat’s back in a way that reminds Mick of Dr. Evil, completely unconcerned about hanging off the couch like a bat.

Sometimes Mick actually manages to forget he’s a vampire. Then he goes and does something like this.

“Could y’turn it down a bit, Batty?” he grumbles, “Some humans like to sleep.”

Len des _pises_ being told what to do; however, he does respect Mick’s human needs, even if he sometimes goes a little overboard. Their first official date involved stopping to eat every five blocks because Len, despite being over four hundred years old, couldn’t remember that humans didn’t actually _have_ to eat that much.

Mick still ate everything, but y’know. It’s the principle of the thing.

Len turns the volume low. His vampiric hearing will make up for the loss. As for Mick, he makes a rumbling sound deep in his throat and leans down for a kiss.

Len tilts his head up—and Mick kisses Vulcan’s head. The face he gets is _priceless_.

Smirking, Mick says, “Oh, did _Prince Charming_ want a kiss too?”

He smacks Len’s foot instead and returns to bed.

Mick watches his flickering lighter for a while to put his mind at ease. He gives himself a couple new burns, ‘cause he got lost in his art for a while and needs a reminder of what his true self is. As always, the fire obliges.

As he sets the zippo back on his nightstand, he mutters a quick, “Thanks, beautiful,” and rolls over.

* * *

Vulcan is on his back. This is acceptable.

Len is sketching next to him. This is _very_ acceptable.

Mick peels his eyes open with a hoarse, “Dontcha wanna close the blinds?”

Len smirks at him. “Don’t worry, Sleeping Beauty; it’s only one-thirty.”

That would explain why it’s so dark.

“How were your cannibals?” Mick teases.

“Dying a horrible death of pain and despair,” Len deadpans, “enjoyable as always.”

Mick grunts and closes his eyes again.

“Mick.”

“Hmuh?”

“I don’t suppose you have a late night snack in you?”

Careful not to disturb The Cat, Mick flops his right arm out. It takes a bit of contortion, but Len manages to get to the vein he wants under Mick’s wrist.

He runs slow fingers over Mick’s temple. “Go back to sleep, _baby_.”

Mick instantly starts to drift, but there ain’t no way he’s letting that slide. He manages to grumble “Shu’th’fug up” before he’s out.

That’s a victory for the humans in his book.

* * *

At four in the morning, Mick wakes again. His schedule’s always shot to shit when he’s working. Vulcan’s gone by now, probably off stuffing his face with a persistent mouse, so he’s free to think about getting up for some chips or somethin’.

But, to his surprise, Len’s still here. A few pieces of paper surround him now, all sketches of Central City’s skyline as it can be seen outside of Mick’s window.

He replies to the unspoken question, “Preliminary sketches. I’m thinkin’ about watercolors.”

Mick snorts. “Good luck with that, Snart.”

Len shoots him a narrow look. “I’ve done watercolors before.”

“I know. They sucked ass.”

“Are you always so invested in other artists, or am I just _lucky_?”

(Len must _never know_ that Mick did his Master’s thesis on him. Never.)

“Double major, Lenny,” Mick grumbles, “s’what I do.”

“When _I_ was your age—”

“ _Don’t_.”

Len smirks again. After a beat, “I gotta leave soon.”

“Surprised you didn’t already. Like watchin’ me sleep, you creepy fuck?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious that I haven’t been watching _you_ , Mick.” Len waves at his sketches.

“Good. You pull that shit, I’m kickin’ you out.”

“Why so cold?”

Mick groans and rolls onto his other side. A banshee will go mute the day Leonard Snart stops making puns about his vampirism. At four in the morning, Mick ain’t got time for that.

He can _feel_ Lenny’s shit-eating smile. Unacceptable.

A few minutes later, there’s the sound of shuffling papers. There’s a muted pang of irritated disappointment in his gut; for all that he knows he and Lenny can’t last, he hates seein’ him go.

Still, when Len spares him a kiss on his shoulder and mutters, “See you tomorrow night,” Mick merely gives a faint wave and a grunt.

As the spot next to him warms, Mick flicks his lighter. When dawn breaks in a thin sheet of gray smog, he finally gets back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
